


It's Rare The Man Who'll Hold To Faith And Face Me In The Morning

by ReinaQueenofDemons



Series: That's Fear That Chills You Like A Wraith [2]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Blood and Injury, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood Memories, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Memories, OC death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:40:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,415
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28331025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReinaQueenofDemons/pseuds/ReinaQueenofDemons
Summary: The Witcher, Gawain of Vengerberg, knows his fate is to be bested by a monster and die young and alone on the Path. It's not hard for him to accept. It's the same fate all witchers are destined to meet, why should the son of Geralt of Rivia and Yennefer of Vengerberg expect anything different? He has never been Destiny's favored son. So when Cerys an Craite, queen of Skellige, summons him with a contract to deal with an arachas, he goes. And he does not return.
Relationships: Background Eskel/Lambert (The Witcher), Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon/Cerys an Craite, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg, Past Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion - Relationship, Past Geralt/Yennefer/Jaskier
Series: That's Fear That Chills You Like A Wraith [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2089770
Comments: 2
Kudos: 9





	1. Chapter 1

_"Geralt..." Yennefer stroked his hair lightly with her fingers, watching him intently as he kissed her belly vigorously but gently. "What are you whispering to him?" The witcher cupped the swell lovingly as he moved to kiss her cheek and snuggle in at her side. She kissed his back, moving into the warmth of his shoulder to pillow his head. He still cupped her belly, stroking it fondly._

_"I'm trying to figure out his name." He finally answered, planting another kiss, this time into her hair. He inhaled deeply, catching the scent of lilac and gooseberries deep into himself. "He definitely hates Ehroc." She snickered softly. "He doesn't like Jaesyn either."_

_She shot him a glare but it dissolved into another chuckle. "What does he like?" She put her hand over his, tracing his movements across her belly with her own. The baby inside kicked along with the ministrations of his parents as though he was following their touch._

_"He likes being called Wolf pup. It makes him kick." As if on cue the baby struck hard enough for both his parents feel it. Geralt chuckled. "See?"_

_"Mmm...well he's heard himself referred to such enough, he should like it. What else?" Yennefer closed her eyes as she laid against his chest, listening for the near silent drum of his heartbeat._

_"He likes Gawain."_

_She snorted. "The bard's suggestion? Of course." She bit her lip, thinking of the name in her mind. "The Witcher, Gawain of Rivia." She muttered. "It does sound appropriate."_

_"Vengerberg." Geralt muttered, kissing her hair again._

_"Hmm?"_

_"The Witcher, Gawain of Vengerberg." He announced, his breath was hot in her ear._

_"Hmm." He chuckled softly because she sounded like him when she said it. "I like that." After a moment she started to laugh and he pulled back, wanting to know what she found funny. "I was just thinking...Jaesyn Ehroc Pankratz, Viscount of Lettenhove, court Mage." He snorted and she shrugged, grinning as she snuggled back into his side. "The Witcher, Gawain of Vengerberg." She echoed, her gaze suddenly reaching very far away. "Monster hunter..."_

_"Mutant."_

_"Friend of humanity."_

Yennefer shook her head, running a hand through her raven hair as she looked once more down the path that lead out of Toussaint, out to the mountains beyond. A cold autumn chill, one carrying the bite of forthcoming winter, shook the trees causing a cascade of red and orange to sweep across the rocky lane. Not that it snowed in Toussaint, indeed Corvo Bianco was warm even in the dead of winter, when the mountain peaks were pure white with snow. The winding hills spread out before her, and her violet eyes searched every one until they ached with use. A warm arm came up to encircle her and she pulled close to soft fabric clothing a strong chest. "He's late." She muttered, not turning her gaze. 

"He's probably just finishing his last contract. Besides, Eskel and Lambert just got here last night." He tried to ease her unrest, but he could tell it wasn't working.

Her shoulders stiffened, and she continued to grow frigid in his grasp."Eskel said the last time he saw him, was in Rinde."

Geralt cleared his throat. "Right. He said something about Skellige. That's a long ride between the isles and here." He mused. "He'll be along, Yen." He rubbed her shoulder, trying to soothe her. There were many that would no longer to be along to dine with them this coming winter. That Eskel survived the dungeons of Nilfgaard and he and Lambert had survived another year on the Path was a blessing itself, but they were few. Letho had been killed by a griffin two summers past. They hadn't heard from Gaetan in more than 4 years. Sabrina had been burned in Kaedwen, for what offensive they didn't know. Triss was long absent, serving in Kovir. Other friends, Elvin, Mage, Dwarf, Human and otherwise had passed on or been lost. Even Jaskier would be missing. Their lover had died in the spring, his body buried far away in Kerack, at the coast, where it was warm, and dandelions and buttercups grew over the grave. 

Suddenly the sounds of horse hoofs filled his ears. He grinned at first, searching for the rider. He felt Yennefer's own heartbeat speed up as she too caught the sound. But his grin soon faded. The rider approaching was seated on a great black mare, and wore not the black worn armor of a Witcher but single brown pauldron, that blended seamlessly into a brown leather corset. On her shoulders was a dark purple cloak, so colored because it blended the blue of Cintra with the red and purple of Skellige. "Ciri." Yennefer gasped, rushing forward to meet Kelpie as she ran up the path. "Ciri, what are you doing here?"

"Cerys." She muttered. Yennefer caught Kelpie's bridle, holding her still so that Ciri could dismount. "She sent a message about an arachas, so I was headed to Skellige, but I heard tell that another Witcher beat me to it." Her gaze drifted between Yennefer's worried face and Geralt's stone expression. "I was in Kagen yesterday. Rumor is the Witcher did not return." 

"That's not unusual." Geralt could feel the panic rising in Yennefer's chest, but he kept his own at bay as much as possible. "Maybe he just finished the job and moved on." 

Ciri shook her head. "He didn't return for payment, and word is the arachas is still there. It killed 2 days ago, and was spotted since." 

Geralt shook his head, composure slipping."Did you send word to Cerys?" 

Ciri bit her lip as she shook her own head. "I didn't have time. I rode hard...to...to see if..."

"He's not here." Geralt muttered. "Eskel and Lambert got in last night." A tear rolled down Yennefer's cheek. Ciri's breathing got faster, her heart pounding loudly in her chest. "Eskel said he was heading towards Skellige when he saw him a few weeks ago." For a moment none of them moved. None of them breathed. And then Yennefer turned to Geralt and he rushed for the house, Yennefer and Ciri on his heels. 

..........

"I knew I should've gone along with that kid." Eskel spat into the dirt as he tightened his swords to his back. They were all standing the courtyard in various states of dress. Lambert and Eskel had all but grabbed their clothes and gear and rushed for the door. Geralt and Yennefer had pounded up the stairs to their room, ripping off leisure clothes and grabbing various items for travel, and battle if necessary. Ciri was prepping everyone's horses. "Thanks Ciri." Eskel muttered when she handed him Scorpion's reigns. 

"Yeah well, you couldn't have known." Lambert laced his boots and grabbed his own bag, tying it to his horse. "Besides one arachas is nothing. It's a slow, stupid creature. Poisonous, sure, but nothing golden oriole doesn't cure." Eskel regarded him solemnly. "Maybe the kid is just...laying low...recovering with a whore and a stock of White Gull." Geralt and Yennefer came back out, each carrying their bags, though Yennefer was helping Geralt to strap on his chest plate. She was tightening the strap at his shoulder. She hadn't laced her corset properly, there was a gap about her breasts where the leather should have been laced through and was not. Lambert tried not to notice. "What's the plan?" 

"I can create a portal that will take us right to Kaer Trolde." Yennefer slapped her hand over the shoulder strap to make sure it would hold. Geralt huffed in acknowledgement. She wrapped her cloak around her shoulders and pulled the hood up. "We start there with Cerys, and then we can split up." Geralt clapped her shoulder and she looked over at him. "If there is even a chance of finding him alive..." Geralt nodded, pressing his forehead against his wife's. 

"Let's go." Geralt reached for Roach, walking her back as Yennefer stepped forward. The portal she created was powerful and wide, enough that the four witchers could pass through easily with their horses. She followed behind them, sealing the portal with a gesture of her arm.

The Skelliger wind blew furiously from the sea as they made their way to the gates of Kaer Trolde. Snow was already falling on the isles, and it whipped mercilessly against exposed flesh. Even for a Witcher the cold was bone chilling, deep enough to reveal Kaer Morhen, and they made for the gates with unfamiliar haste. Ciri removed the hood of her cloak and brandished her scarred cheek to the guard. "My lady." He muttered. "You've returned."

"How fairs the Queen?" She asked in an air of pleasantry against the cold. 

"She is well, my lady. Shall I accompany you to her?" Ciri nodded, but the guard hesitated. He looked over Ciri's shoulder to the four figures hooded and cloaked behind her. He had to squint against the snow and wind, but the statue of Ciri's companions gave them away even so. "I...forgive me, my lady, but 3 witchers and a mage-"

"We are friends of Queen Cerys." Yennefer's voice was strong and steady as she stepped forward and removed her hood. "I am Yennefer of Vengerberg, and this my husband, Sir Geralt of Rivia."

Recognition flashed in the poor guard's eyes. He regarded Yennefer's face, her violet eyes easily recalled. "Ah yes, I remember, when King Bran passed. You supported the Queen in her claim for the throne." He turned and gestured down the other guards. "Please follow me." As he led them through the frozen courtyard he paused, just to make friendly conversation. "What brings you to here to see the Queen at the start of such a miserable winter?"

Yennefer hesitated, looking back at Geralt. Geralt set his jaw before answering. "A witcher passed through here with a contract from the Queen. Heard he didn't finish the job, and haven't seen him since." That was as much as Geralt was willing to reveal. They didn't need questions, and the guard didn't need the specifics.

"Oh yes, the one she sent to slay the arachas. Heard it got him, I did." Yennefer exchanged a frantic look with Geralt, who stiffened and pushed his emotions away. "Seems a bit overkill to send 3 more Witchers after it, with winter on our doorstep now, it's surely gone into it's Yuletide sleep." Lambert snorted and Eskel punched him in the shoulder to keep him silent. The guard opened the doors to the main hall and approached. "I have guests to see the Queen." He told the hall guard. "And my lady, Cirilla is here." The guard nodded and sounded the introduction.

At the end of the hall Cerys was dining, set at the head of the table, where dinner was served. She had guests on all sides but stood when she was told that Ciri was here. "My dear heart! Come! You're just in time to sup with us." Ciri went to her and embraced her lover. But her face was not joyful and Cerys saw the graveness immediately. She did not need to look twice to know who accompanied her. "I see." The queen turned back to her guests. "My lords and ladies. I'm afraid I must retire to my private chamber, but please, do continue to dine. Falka." She gestured to the red haired young woman who had been seated beside her. The woman nodded, and moved to take Cerys' seat as she gestured for Ciri and the Witchers to follow her. 

"Falka has grown up beautiful and strong." Yennefer praised. "No doubt she does you proud." 

"Yes, my niece will be a strong ruler one day." There was a faraway look in Cerys' eyes and Yennefer recognized it immediately. "Yennefer, I must express my deepest regrets...I...I don't know what happened to your son." The queen sat down on the bed and glanced up at the occupants. Ciri sat down beside her and tentatively reached out and took Cerys' hand, urging her to tell them what had happened. "I was assuming Ciri would come when I sent out the contract, but Gawain must have heard of it first. He assured me he would need only three days."

"Back up, Cerys." Geralt stepped closer. "How did you know it was an arachas?" 

"Some men from Fyresdal came to complain that it was stealing their goats. They said they saw it, and that it snatched a child also." Lambert, Eskel and Geralt exchanged worryingly looks. "What?" She watched as the Witchers and the sorceress' faces grew dark. "It's not an arachas is it." Ciri squeezed Cerys' hand. The queen to looked to her lover, eyes widening. "Ciri, do not tell me I sent your brother to his death by misidentifying the monster." 

"We need to go." Geralt grabbed Yennefer's arm. "Ciri, you and your mother should stay here."

Yennefer raised her eyes, her eyes ablaze when she heard him. "What do you mean stay here? Geralt!"

"No." The Witcher told her firmly. "You don't need to see what we're sure to find."

"Geralt." She pulled him closer, hissing slightly. "He is my son too."

Geralt leaned in, whispering into her ear. "I will call to you if we find him alive, but Yennefer...there isn't much hope." He kissed her cheek and turned to Ciri who had stood to protest. "Ciri, you must obey me in this."

"I can take care of myself." The witcheress declared. "Even if it is Forktail, Geralt I have fought all measure of creatures across this continent. You do not need to worry about my safety."

Geralt's face softened as he looked at her. He reached out and brushed her bangs away from her scar. "Ciri, it's not that I doubt your abilities." She caught his hand. For a moment they stared at each other and then she nodded. "Papa." She whispered. "If there's any chance..."

"I will bring him home, either way." Geralt declared. He kissed her forehead, and then her mother's before retreating after Lambert and Eskel who had made quick work to rejoin their horses. 


	2. Chapter 2

_"Geralt!" The Witcher looked up at the sound of his name. He was sitting in the courtyard of Kaer Morhen, mending the rent on his armor. It was warm, for a mountain winter, and the sun shown strong, making the snow glitter like diamonds against the stone masonry. He could see Lambert coming up the path to the keep, treading through the snow, and behind him his fourteen year old son, a large buck slung proudly over his shoulders even as it's blood stained his cloak and his shirt. "You should have seen Gawain. I swear he hit the fucker at 200 yards, easy." Lambert boasted when Geralt joined them in the snow. "His only shot of the day as well."_

_"A single shot." Geralt remarked studying the deep upon his son's shoulders. The arrow was still sticking out from it's eye, lodged deep in it's skull. "Good job, son." He clapped Gawain on the shoulder, radiating with pride. His son allowed him a small smile in return, but his golden eyes went soft at the sounds of his father's praise._

_"The shot would have slew a kikimora." Lambert insisted, shaking the snow from his cloak as they climbed the hill to the keep. "Anyway, I'm quite looking forward to dinner now."_

_"I'm sure you are." Geralt chuckled. He looked back at his son again, still holding his kill steady on his shoulders. "And what does the young hunter think?"_

_"Witcher." Gawain corrected quickly. "The Witcher hopes Eskel hasn't eaten all the cheese."_

_Lambert and Geralt laughed. "Yeah tell your uncle that and see how he reacts. Geralt, I'd say the boy earned himself his first White Gull."_

_Geralt shook his head, though a smirk appeared across his face. "When he kills his first monster he can have White Gull. Besides, you'd have his mother to contend with over that."_

The memory faded as dark as the sky as Geralt urged Roach on, Eskel and Lambert close behind him. The paths through Ard Skellige were cold and frozen in the early snows, but Geralt could only marginally feel the chill. "The villagers said he must have followed it through to the abandoned hunting lodge ahead." Eskel finally broke the uncomfortable silence. 

Lambert sniffed, looking up and then to his side. "Something smells very rank." He muttered. 

"I smell it too." Geralt muttered, setting his jaw. Something moved in the distance ahead, and the Witchers immediately drew their swords. Out of the snowy haze a dark horse appeared without its rider. "Shadow." His son's horse. 

_"She's yours, my love." Yennefer lead the young mare, black as midnight, over to her son. He smiled as she passed him the bridle. "She's of good stock. I saw her foaled myself. She's hardy enough for the Path." Her violet eyes were sad when the word passed her lips, but she tried not to show it. Not when her son, eighteen now and as tall as his father, stood there stroking the horse's dark nose as they got to know one another. He inclined his head and she smiled at how his dark unruly hair blended seamlessly into her black coat._ _He had grown broad with the last winter, his chest filled and his strength sharpened. Jaskier had outfitted him with his armor that very morning, gifting him the light but thick black chest plate, and the black padded jacket embedded with thorns that resembled Eskel's favorite gambison. He insisted on black and he wore it well. "What will you call her?" She finally asked._

_Her son's golden eyes shimmered as he glanced up at her. "Shadow."_

"Shadow." Geralt dismounted Roach and carefully approached the horse. She wasn't spooked, but she was thin and limped considerably over to him. Clearly she had been without her rider for several days. The Witcher frowned to see her state. The limp was nasty, and a look at her back legs revealed the cause, deep claw marks painted her flank, the wound swollen and full of pus. That it had yet to kill her was a testament to her breeding and stature. Yennefer was not mistaken when she had chosen this horse for their son. 

"Poor thing." Eskel muttered, coming up behind Geralt. He stroked her nose. He didn't say what they were both thinking.

"Let her be. She's lived this long." Lambert protested as he joined them. "Perhaps the wound will seal itself." 

Geralt snorted, recovery was doubtful, but he did not redraw his sword. "Well...maybe she can lead us to Gawain at least." He took her bridle and turned her towards him. "Shadow, my love." He muttered against her neck. "Where is your master?" He felt her heart rate speed at the mention of master. She whined and turned, suddenly agitated. "Yeah, she knows. Come on." He lead her himself, with Eskel taking Roach and Scorpion both, and Lambert following after them. 

The rank stench grew fouler as they followed Shadow through the blanket of trees to where the rundown shack came into view. There was blood and draggings through the snow, broken branches littered their way. A carcass lay just beyond. All three witchers halted at the size and the scales they could just make out under the blanket of fresh snow.

Blood drops and the footprints of a man, struggling and falling lead into the hunting lodge. Eskel and Lambert drew swords. "We'll take the monster, you..." Eskel gestured to the building. Lambert reached forward and took Shadow's bridle. Neither of them had much else to say and Geralt was grateful. He knew what he would find behind the walls and he needed to steady himself.

He winced at the blood that seemed to only increase as he followed it to the door. It was half open, little protection from the cold and it nearly came apart in his hand as he forced it open. A figure lay across the floor where he had collapsed. It had been days, how long had his son lingered here so grievously wounded? 

"Gawain." Geralt rushed across the room, skidding down to his knees as he grabbed unto the man upon the floor. He was covered in black blood, much of it dried. His armor was rent, and at his stomach a gaping wound, bleeding sluggishly. Beside him, near a broken glass vial still sticky with yellow paste, lay a deep blue stinger, the end was broken and nowhere to be seen. "Fuck." He knew what that stinger was. "Gawain." He could barely, barely hear a heartbeat as he turned his attention back to his son. 

"Father." Came the sluggish reply. The man opened golden eyes and looked up at Geralt. Blood was trickling out of his mouth. The Witcher took a breath to steady himself as he thumbed the blood away. He had to be strong, his son needed help. He needed to think quickly. There was fireplace against the far wall, and he quickly cast Igni against it. The fire crackled and burned to life, the light perpetuating the seriousness of the wounds. Gawain still shivered in his arms. The stinger in his stomach was far bigger and darker than that of a forktail. 

"Not a forktail, a fucking wyvern." Geralt muttered, looking from the stinger to his son. His hands grabbed for the remains of Gawain's armor. He hastily unbuckled the shoulder straps holding the chest plate and cast it aside. "Gawain, have you been taking golden oriole?" He asked. He grabbed the boy's face, forcing his eyes open. His son was burning with fever. He coughed and more blood ran from his mouth. "Gawain?" 

"Tried." He muttered. "Couldn't get the...the rest of the stinger out." He closed his eyes and Geralt slapped him to keep him conscious. "Father." He muttered again. 

"I'm going to get it out." Geralt promised. He drew his knife and used it to peeled away what remained of Gawain's shirt, blood making it stick to his skin. The wound was ugly, black as death with tendrils flowing across pale skin. "Fuck." He looked at his son's face again. He had to cut open the wound and dig out the remainder of the stinger before the poison spread any further. He reached into his bag and grabbed a vial of golden oriole and some bandages. "Gawain, drink this." He pulled the cork out with his teeth, slipping his arm under Gawain's head to hold him upright. His son coughed and sputtered as the potion passed his lips. 

"Water." He requested, coughing violently. Geralt reached for his wineskin and handed it to his son. Gawain splashed it over his mouth, coughing still, but the potion brought some color back to his face, enough that he was no longer pallid as death itself. Satisfied Geralt picked up his knife again. 

"Son, this is going to hurt." He pressed his knife to the wound. Gawain screamed, too weak to do much else. The blood that flowed was black and it turned Geralt's stomach with the stench of rot. He pressed a bandage against the cut and pulled at the tattered flesh so that he could pick out the stinger. He used the bandage to grip it and yanked it free, casting it into the fire where it popped and cracked. New blood burst free of the wound and Geralt used another bandage to staunch the bleeding. 

"Father." Gawain sucked his breath in sharply and muttered, grabbing Geralt's wrist. Geralt reached out for his son's face again. Flesh that had been scorching moments before, was now growing cold. Geralt watched in horror as his son's lips grew blue. "Father." Golden eyes searched for him and Geralt held himself within Gawain's sight. "I can't...I can't feel anything."

Geralt swallowed down the lump in his throat. He grabbed for Swallow this time. "It's okay, son." The witcher told him, pulling him closer into his arms, Gawain's blood soaking into his shirt. "It's okay." He ripped off the cork with his teeth. "Here." He brought it to Gawain's lips, but stilled himself when he saw how blue his lips had grown. A horrific realization washed over him. "Gawain...I..."

"Papa." His breathing was growing increasingly labored. Golden eyes were growing dull in the weak firelight. "I..." He could no longer speak. 

Geralt shook his head. It was too late. Destiny had promised him this moment and it was playing through as it was suppose to. There was nothing he could do but hold his son. "I'm here, son. You're not alone. I love you. Your mother loves you." Gawain took a final breath, his gaze fixed on his father, and then his eyes went blank and all color drained away from his face. Geralt closed his son's eyes and held him close against his chest as he had done the moment his son was born. 

"Geralt?" Lambert and Eskel stepped into the room, their swords bloody. Geralt sniffed, wiping tears away with the heel of his hand. He took a breath to steady himself as he had done just minutes before, picking himself up with Gawain in his arms. "We need to get back to Yen." He turned around. Eskel raised his eyebrows, shock on his face. Lambert's jaw fell open and he sucked his breath in sharply. "Don't look like that. Help me get him back to his mother." 

...............

Eskel and Lambert shoved open the doors to Cerys' court. Cerys sat up straighter on her throne, as did Ciri by her side. Geralt walked in carrying Gawain's body. "No!" Ciri shrieked, rushing down the aisle towards the Witcher. "Father..." She couldn't stop the tears as she reached him. Her gaze fell upon Gawain's pale face. Her baby brother was no more. 

"We will give him a proper pyre." Cerys declared, making her way down to them. 

"I'm more interested in where his mother is." Geralt told her softly. Cerys nodded behind her, to the direction of her chamber. Geralt nodded back to her. Cerys wrapped her arms around Ciri as he made his way to the chamber. 

"Yen?" He asked softly. She met him at the door. Her violet eyes filled with tears, She reached out slowly and ran her fingers over a stray lock of twisted raven hair, identical to her own. 


End file.
